


Weasley's Wizard Wheezes

by rebecca_selene



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Canonical Character Death, F/M, M/M, Minor Violence, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-01
Updated: 2011-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-18 04:11:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/184831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebecca_selene/pseuds/rebecca_selene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fred and George didn’t even have time to figure out their feelings before everything changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weasley's Wizard Wheezes

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely based on the plot of Wuthering Heights.  
> Written for a 2011 [](http://dysfuncentine.livejournal.com/profile)[**dysfuncentine**](http://dysfuncentine.livejournal.com/) prompt [#64](http://community.livejournal.com/dysfuncentine/1006.html?thread=19694#t19694) [(George/Angelina: She wants him to be Fred)](http://community.livejournal.com/dysfuncentine/3079.html) submitted by [](http://sandystarr88.livejournal.com/profile)[**sandystarr88**](http://sandystarr88.livejournal.com/).  
>  **Beta:** the amazing [](http://paean-sf.livejournal.com/profile)[**paean_sf**](http://paean-sf.livejournal.com/) , for whose patience, advice, and timeliness I am forever grateful <3  
> 

Scorpius Malfoy paused outside the dilapidated doors to the shop in Diagon Alley. He could barely see the faded trio of “W’s” on the sign through the rain, tilting his head just enough to see without letting his hood fall. The run down store was the last place he’d seek shelter, but it was the only one nearby that hadn’t shut its lights off at the arrival of the freak storm. Shivering as the rain came down harder, Scorpius pulled open the door and practically jumped over the threshold, shutting out the pounding storm behind him.

The young man had barely enough time to remove his hood and shake off some rainwater before a loud _pop_ announced the arrival of a house elf.

“Welcome to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes!” it exclaimed, stumbling over the repeated consonant out of excitement or, as Scorpius rather suspected, ill training. “Master cannot come down right now, but Dobby can show the customer around!” The elf’s head bobbed dangerously on its thin neck.

“Er,” Scorpius began, just beginning to realize that he was the only customer in sight, “I just wanted to get out of the rain for a bit. Wait it out before I continued shopping.” He began to edge his way back to the door. “I don’t have to stay though.”

“No!” Dobby squeaked, making Scorpius jump. “What Dobby means, sir,” he amended with less force, “what Dobby means is that sir is welcome to stay, sir. Dobby will get sir dry clothes and hot tea!” Before Scorpius could protest, a snap of the house-elf’s fingers made his outer robes disappear, replaced by drier, heavier ones. Scorpius turned to Dobby to demand his own clothes back, but the elf had already disappeared.

Sighing, the young man made his way to a nearby chair. Even if he did want to cut his excursion short and apparate home without seeing Ms. Granger at her latest book signing, he couldn’t now without his favorite robes. Fingers tapping impatiently on the arm of the chair, Scorpius looked around the shop for the first time.

The light may have been a beacon when he was getting drenched in the street, but in the calm inside it only glowed dimly. Shelves of toys stood silent, the cases casting long shadows that made Scorpius glad he had given up childish superstitions long ago. Dust weighed heavily on all surfaces, and Scorpius could see the tracks his shoes made from the doorway to the chair. A shaft of lamplight from the street shone through the window onto a cage of unmoving Pygmy Puffs. Suppressing a shiver, Scorpius tried to focus on the rhythm of the rain, but an occasional ominous creak from the floorboards above his head distracted him.

He nearly jumped out of his seat when Dobby appeared again, carrying a tray of biscuits and tea. Bowing his head, the house-elf set the tray on a low table next to Scorpius’ chair. “Tea for the young sir,” he said contritely, as if during his absence he had remembered how to act correctly. “Young sir can call on Dobby if young sir needs anything else,” he offered, beginning the motion to make himself disappear.

“Wait!” Scorpius cried, feeling himself turn red when Dobby’s round eyes fixed themselves on him. The young man would never admit it, but Dobby’s presence was a comfort among the sharp angles of the shadows in the joke shop. Covering for his discomfort, Scorpius asked, “What happened to this place?” He waved his hand around to encompass the room.

“What does young sir mean?” Dobby asked.

Scorpius scoffed. “Father said this store used to be a very good joke shop. Now it’s just…covered in dust and empty. It looks like a tomb,” he added, more to himself, as he looked around at the neglect the peeling wallpaper showcased.

“Ah,” Dobby said knowingly. “Young sir wants to know about the masters.”

Scorpius was sure he had heard the house-elf refer to only one master earlier, but he shrugged off the disparity. “Yes, sure, why not?” he agreed, looking out the window at the relentless rain.

Dobby sat himself on the dusty wooden floor and, after waiting stubbornly for Scorpius to take a biscuit, began his tale.

***

Fred and George Weasley should have been born attached at the hip. People may have thought that they were, indeed, Siamese twins, if it weren’t for their tricks that required one twin to distract their unwitting prey while the other implemented some scare or other out of sight. The boys otherwise completed each other’s body space just as they completed each other’s sentences.

The days spent at Hogwarts offered the twins a freedom they didn’t often find under the stern wand of their mother. In the wide halls it was easier to avoid detection, and once they found the ticklish pear, they often stumbled giggling into the kitchens just moments before Filch or a patrolling professor would have caught them. Dobby was always more than happy to stuff their pockets with food and listen to their chatter at any hour of the night.

One night, when George was forced to stay in Gryffindor tower to finish a Charms essay, Fred came down to the kitchens alone for snacks. He had such a distracted look on his face as Dobby insisted on serving him tea that the house-elf could not help but ask why.

“I asked Katie to the Yule Ball,” Fred answered forlornly.

“What did Miss Katie say?” Dobby asked.

“She said yes,” Fred replied, carving a shape into the wood of the kitchen table.

“Is…is that a good thing, sir?” Dobby ventured, boxing up some treacle tart.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Fred said. “I like Katie a lot. She’s very nice, and she’s a good Quidditch player. She’ll be a wonderful date.” His expression brightened.

Dobby placed the treacle tart among the other bags and boxes of various foods and sweets. “And who is Mister George going to the Yule Ball with?” Dobby asked. Fred’s smile disappeared.

“Angelina Johnson,” the twin answered. His wand sparked, setting the tabletop on fire, which Dobby quickly ran to put out while Fred apologized profusely.

Once the fire was gone, Dobby looked at Fred’s flushed face. “Is Mister Fred not liking Miss Angelina?” he asked cautiously. The portrait opened and another red-haired boy stepped through quietly, looking as if he was attempting to surprise someone. With his back to the wall, Fred did not notice the newcomer.

“It’s not that,” Fred answered, looking decisively uncomfortable. “It’s just, I don’t think he should be going to the Ball with her.” He paused, and then, in a rush, whispered, “I think he should go with me!”

The boy looked shocked at his own statement, and indeed his words appeared to render his twin by the doorway immobile. Dobby said, “Then Mister Fred should ask Mister George to the Ball, if Mister Fred is not wanting to go with Miss Katie.”

Fred banged his hand against the table. “But I can’t!” he exclaimed. “It…it wouldn’t be right. I mean, look at him. He’s my twin! It would be wrong to dance with my own flesh and blood. It would be disgusting!”

Dobby saw the portrait open and close again, so that only one Weasley remained in the kitchens. Fred continued, “Yes, it would be nice to go with George. I mean, what I feel with Katie is nice. She makes me happy. But what I feel with George? It’s…it’s…Dobby, I _am_ George.” His eyes were so earnest that he almost looked like a house-elf himself.

“Er,” Dobby said, “it might be being too late to ask Mister George.” At Fred’s confused expression, Dobby elaborated, “Mister George was just here, sir, and Mister George was not looking happy.”

Fred paled. “Dobby, what did he hear?” he whispered hoarsely.

“I…I think, sir, I think Mister George heard Mister Fred say that going to the Ball with Mister George was being disgusting, sir…”

Fred was out of his seat before Dobby could finish. “George! George!” He threw open the portrait and raced down the hall, but George was already gone. Dobby urged Fred in hushed tones to return to the kitchens, lest Filch find him. Tears leaking from his eyes, Fred allowed himself to be led back to the table, where he dissolved into sobs.

***

The twins didn’t come around the kitchens again until after the Yule Ball. Dobby fluttered around excitedly, placing package after package of savories and sweets on the table for them until, laughing, Fred begged him to stop.

“We won’t be able to get up the stairs with all this stuff in our pockets,” he explained to a crestfallen Dobby.

“Or in our bellies,” added George. “Where does all this food come from, anyway?”

“The students was not eating so much at the Yule Ball, but Dobby hates to see food go in the bins. Dobby is very good at stasis charms,” the house-elf said proudly.

The twins glanced at each other tensely at the mention of the Ball, but quickly looked away and proclaimed Dobby “Saviour of the Edible World.”

On their first trip to the kitchens at the beginning of the next school year, tension of a different kind overshadowed their usual light-hearted attitude.

“It’s like Cedric’s death isn’t even important,” George said, disgusted. “‘Tragic accident,’ my arse.”

“I don’t know how much longer I can stay here,” Fred complained.

“It’s not like we’re learning anything, what with the Ministry controlling the curriculum,” George replied, starting to look thoughtful. The twins looked at each other.

“We’ve that money from Harry,” Fred ventured slowly.

“And a tonne of tricks between all of our hiding places,” George added, starting to look excited.

“NEWTs aren’t going to help those who already help themselves,” Fred said, looking his brother straight in the eye.

George grinned. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Let’s do this.” Fred clasped his brother’s hand, and the unspoken plan was set.

Over the next months, Fred and George pored over notes and details late into the night, while Dobby kept them supplied with copious amounts of tea. The night before they intended to make their grand exit, George asked Dobby to sit with them, which the house-elf did after much persuasion.

“Dobby, you’re a free elf, right?” Fred asked. Dobby nodded enthusiastically. “Well, we know you like working at Hogwarts,” he glanced at George, “but how about you come work for us? We’re going to need a lot of help in our new shop.”

Dobby’s eyes grew impossibly rounder. “Oh, Dobby is flattered, sirs, but Dobby could never be leaving kind, generous Headmaster Dumbledore.”

“But Dumbledore isn’t here right now,” George argued. “Do you really want to continue working under that cruel old bat?”

“And are you saying that _we_ wouldn’t be kind and generous like Dumbledore?” Fred teased. Dobby nearly fell off the bench trying to deny any such thing.

“No, of course not, sirs! Dobby knows sirs would be just as kind as Headmaster Dumbledore, sirs!” He looked furtively to the side as if expecting Umbridge to appear out of the shadows before saying, “Dobby would be proud to work for Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley.”

Grinning, George said decisively, “It’s settled, then.” He held out a hand.

Tentatively Dobby shook it, and a large smile broke over his face.

***

The house-elf arrived at the single-bedroom loft above the shop the next afternoon, looking positively delighted. “Dobby must commend new masters for brilliance,” he said, dancing across the bare floor. It seemed he was just as amused by the ensuing chaos of the twins’ fireworks as the rest of the school was, current administration notwithstanding.

Fred and George, faces still red from triumph and mirth, again fell into a fit of laughter. They leaned hard on each other for support but just ended up toppling over. Not untangling their legs from each other’s, they lay catching their breaths.

“You know, Gred, I think we did good today.”

“Between the two of us, we have a singular Mastermind, Forge.”

“What’s it saying now?”

“We need to get up and…”

“…set up shop.”

“Good idea.”

“I thought so too.”

“Oh, and Dobby?”

“Yes, master?”

“Don’t call us masters.”

“Yes, sir.”

Chuckling, the twins stood up and looked around. “Dobby,” Fred began to direct, “why don’t you clear away the dust, and when you’re done,” he continued, eyeing the walls, “see if you can fix the wallpaper where it’s peeling.”

“Eventually we’ll get a new décor,” George said.

“But for now we want to spend as little money as possible,” Fred finished. Dobby nodded seriously before getting to work.

“Now,” George said, looking at Fred, “should we set up the shelves at 90 or 45 degree angles?”

Finally, after a week of cleaning and rearranging, the twins lit up the “Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes” sign and, with simultaneous flicks of their wands, opened their store.

***

Business boomed for the next year and a half. The twins stayed up late after closing almost every day, creating more fun, and often more dangerous products. And yet, every morning, the shop opened on schedule and the teens appeared no worse for the wear. Even their mother had to grudgingly admit that their arrangement had worked out well.

Whatever time Fred and George spent away from the shop was with Katie and Angelina, respectively. The twins met the girls during Hogsmeade weekends, and during holidays the girls visited Diagon Alley. Occasionally one twin would ask the other to spend the evening away from the loft, but it was still a surprise when George learned of Fred’s impending fatherhood.

“What about the shop?” George asked worriedly after the girls had left, Katie blushing and Angelina chatting excitedly. “We can’t fit a baby here.”

“Well,” Fred answered slowly, “Katie and I talked about it. We’ll have to find a bigger place to live. In Diagon Alley, for sure,” he added hastily, “so we can be near you. And the shop, of course.”

“So…so we wouldn’t be living together.” George said more than asked. Fred confirmed his statement anyway.

“No. But you wouldn’t want to live with a screaming kid anyway, right?” Fred forced out a laugh, avoiding his brother’s gaze.

George smiled weakly and made a joke at Ron’s expense, but neither of them laughed for very long. That night, when they slept, it was at opposite ends of the bed.

As planned, Fred and Katie started to look for an apartment big enough for a couple with a kid on the way. But with the return of Voldemort and his followers, Diagon Alley drew less and less business owners and customers. Finally, even the twins had to admit that their shop’s blinking signs were bulls-eyes for Death Eaters, and they closed up and went into hiding.

“We’re still hoping, and we’re still laughing,” George said one evening at the end of the Potterwatch broadcast, having informed listeners of whatever news Dobby had been able to pick up from the outside world. “If You-Know-Who thinks a few months of sharing limited space on the run will break us down, he obviously hasn’t lived in a loft!” George looked over to Fred, fully expecting a ribbing for such a lame joke, but his twin had his own message to give out.

“Mandrake, stay safe and let your family take care of you. I’ll be home to start our own soon enough.”

Finally, all the sneaking and spying came to a head in May. Troops of students, parents, and Aurors gathered to defeat the most evil Dark Lord in centuries. While the battle raged and the Light proved victorious, miles away in St. Mungo’s, Katie Bell gave birth to the next generation.

***

In the aftermath of the battle, celebration quickly gave way to mourning. Dust continued to fall from the ceiling, figures with no one else to attack or defend wandered aimlessly, house elves led by Dobby attempted to provide food and water, and in the middle of the Great Hall, George Weasley cradled his brother’s body.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t cry. He knelt motionless among the laid out bodies of the dead while the living searched for purpose around him. Ignoring his siblings and his parents, it wasn’t until Angelina silently wrapped her arms around him that he broke into heaving, hopeless sobs.

***

Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes remained closed. The devastation from the war disappeared from Diagon Alley, and laughing wizards and witches again filled the streets. New shops popped up in the post-war euphoria of endless possibilities. Katie and her healthy red-headed daughter, Roxanne, moved in with Angelina, and the two women opened their own Quidditch supply shop. Still, WWW stayed dark.

Six months after the Battle of Hogwarts, Angelina finally got frustrated of Dobby’s excuses that George was not receiving visitors and, pushing past the protesting house-elf, marched straight up to the loft.

Opening the door to the only bedroom, she found George sitting on the floor at the foot of his bed. Pictures lay strewn around his feet, some ripped in half, but most intact. He looked up at his visitor with dry but hollow eyes. A half-empty bottle of Firewhiskey stood by his elbow.

“Oh, George,” Angelina sighed. Careful not to step on any photos, she picked her way to him and, kneeling, gently grasped his head in her hands. “Love,” she said, looking into his eyes, “you can’t live like this. You know Fred wouldn’t want you to.”

It seemed George didn’t even have the strength to wince at the sound of his twin’s name. “But he left me,” he whispered. “It’s because I’m disgusting, isn’t it? I just loved him.”

Angelina gathered him in her arms. “Losing your ear doesn’t make you disgusting,” she said. “And we all loved him. But for your own good, you have to move on. I’ll help you, I promise.”

***

Scorpius was thrust abruptly into the present by a thump at the top of the stairs. Blinking away the images of the past which Dobby’s words conjured, Scorpius looked up to see a dark figure descend, a rough cane not unlike his grandfather’s in his hand. Dobby squeaked in alarm, quickly gathering up the long-cold tea and disappearing.

His shock at the sudden arrival of the man fading, Scorpius gathered his wits and stood. “Good afternoon, Mr. Weasley, I presume?” He extended his hand to the older man.

“Yeah, I’m Weasley,” the man answered gruffly. He made no move to take Scorpius’ hand, and the boy dropped it awkwardly. “Who the devil are you?”

“Malfoy, sir. Scorpius Malfoy.” Weasley shifted into the glow of the streetlight, and Scorpius tried hard not to stare. George Weasley’s face was covered in deep lines made deeper by the dim light. Every inch of skin spoke disapproval, from his thin lips to his narrowed eyes. His long graying hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, revealing a gnarled hole where his ear had once been. Nervously, Scorpius glanced at the door, but the man stood between him and the dubious safety of the storm still raging outside.

“Malfoy, eh?” Weasley’s sneer rivaled Scorpius’ grandfather’s. “You must be Draco’s son. I remember him.” Weasley spat to the side. “He was a right coward.”

“Now wait just a minute,” Scorpius said angrily. “How dare you insult my father that way!”

“You don’t like it, you can leave,” Weasley replied, stepping aside to clear a path from Scorpius to the door. “Don’t worry, I won’t stop you.” He sounded almost amused as he looked pointedly through the window at the pouring rain.

Scorpius’ pride nearly made him take up Weasley’s challenge and leave, favorite robes or no, but Dobby chose that moment to reappear carrying an enticing tray of steaming tea and fresh biscuits. Scorpius’ obvious hesitation just made Weasley laugh humourlessly. Ignoring the boy’s fuming expression, the shop owner made his way to the bottom of the stairs and called up, “Girl! We have company! Get down here!”

Dobby looked frightened. “Dobby can take care of guests, Master. Dobby is getting the tea, Master, see?” The house-elf gathered a freshly-poured cup of tea and hobbled with it carefully over to Weasley.

To Scorpius’ shock, Weasley slapped the teacup out of Dobby’s hands. “Save the tea for someone who gives a damn!” he growled. Dobby ran around trying to pick up the pieces when another figure appeared on the steps. Scorpius was surprised to see a girl only a little older than him come downstairs. She had flaming red hair and held her head down, her hands hanging at her sides.

“Well?” Weasley demanded of her. “Do what you’re good for. Get down there and help the elf clean. Earn your keep in this rotten place.”

The girl looked up at Weasley, and Scorpius could see a fire in her eyes that belied her submissive pose. “I have no need to earn my keep in my own house!”

“You’ll do as I say and you’ll do it well, damn you!” Weasley raised his hand as if to strike her. She didn’t even flinch.

“Don’t!” Scorpius cried before he could stop himself. He turned red when the shop owner turned his attention to his guest, but the anger Scorpius expected came from someone else.

“Who do you think you are?” the girl asked, incensed. “You shouldn’t meddle in affairs that don’t concern you!”

Taken aback, Scorpius replied, “Gentlemen don’t raise their hands to ladies.”

The girl scoffed. “There are no gentlemen here,” she said pointedly, then got down on her knees to finish picking up the final pieces of ceramic, Dobby running around her hurriedly.

After a moment, Weasley dropped his arm back to his side and, after studying the girl’s back for a moment, made his way upstairs without another word.

The tension releasing from his body, Scorpius fell back into his chair. Head in his hand, he tried to make sense of everything that had just happened. “I don’t mean to pry,” he finally said, “but is he always like that?”

She gave him the briefest of glances before directing Dobby to take away the broken pieces of teapot. Standing up and wiping her hands on her skirt, she simply said, “Then don’t.”

Scorpius knew from her fierce glare that he should end the conversation, but the violence with which Weasley had greeted the girl did not sit well on his mind. “Is he your father?”

She gritted her teeth. “My uncle.”

“Oh.” Scorpius remained silent as she took out her wand and spelled away the spilled tea. He didn’t bother engaging her with further conversation, and she left shortly.

Seeming to know that Weasley and the girl had gone, Dobby reappeared, his ears looking distinctly wrinkled. Scorpius made a mental note to forbid further self-punishing in his house-elves.

“Who was she?” Scorpius asked.

“That is being Miss Roxanne, sir.

“Fred’s daughter? Why is she here?”

“When Miss Katie died, Miss Roxanne was sent to live here with her uncle Master George. Miss Katie always said that mister Fred would have wanted it that way.”

“Oh,” Scorpius said again. “But what happened to Angelina?”

Dobby cast his eyes down and continued his tale.

***

Angelina made good on her promise. Making appropriate arrangements with Katie for their own shop, she moved into George’s flat and forced him to get off his arse. At first she tried gentle prodding, and when that tactic didn’t work, she threw away all the alcohol, locked up all of Fred’s pictures, and reprimanded George so sternly that his temper finally sparked, and the world saw the first vestiges of life in George Weasley in over half a year.

“George, how long do Puking Pastilles last?” Angelina called up the staircase. George came to the landing to see her holding one of the joke candy bowls.

“I don’t know. We…I’ve…never…” George paused, waiting for Angelina to finish his thought. When she just looked up at him expectantly, however, he took a breath and repeated, “I don’t know.”

Angelina shrugged. “You should probably sell them before they go bad,” she suggested not so subtly before putting the bowl back.

George raised his eyebrows. “You are insufferable,” he said as she made her way up the stairs. At her grin, he continued, “This place needs to be cleaned before I’d even consider opening it again.”

“Dobby’s kept it clean every single day,” Angelina replied. “That’s why you hired him, after all.”

“But there aren’t enough products-” George began again.

Angelina cut him off. “You started with less.” Her hand cupped his cheek. “Just open the shop, love.”

Out of excuses, George conceded. Taking out his wand the next morning, he hesitated for only a moment before switching the sign to “Open.”

Once word was out that WWW was again open for business, people of all ages began pouring in. George stayed mostly in the workroom making new products while Angelina and Dobby dealt with the customers. George complained loudly when, after a month of steady business, Angelina announced that she would be going back to work with Katie.

“And why don’t you ever visit her?” she demanded of George the night she told him her plans. “For Merlin’s sake, you haven’t even met your niece yet!”

George avoided the question. “Who’s going to help me?” he asked. “Dobby can’t do everything, and I have to make the damned things to sell!”

“You have brothers. The last time Molly was here – you do remember your own mother, right? – she said Ron just mopes around the Burrow all day. Why don’t you ask him for help?”

George grumbled but, seeing the determination in Angelina’s eyes, agreed. It turned out that having Ron around wasn’t as bad as George thought. Ron kept to the customers and, once he learned the ropes, didn’t bother George much at all. When Angelina came back in the evenings, she and George spent more time having civil conversations than arguing like they had when stuck together all day.

They took a few well-earned vacation days in February and celebrated a very gushy and inebriated, but enjoyable, Valentine’s Day together. Drunkenly, George picked up his wand to summon another bottle of Firewhiskey, but the wand turned into a hideous plastic ring instead. Staring at it blankly for a moment while Angelina giggled uncontrollably, his face finally split into a smile. He shrugged, clumsily grasped her hand, and slid the ring on her finger. “Angelina, will you marry me?”

She said yes. To Molly’s horror, they had a small, quick ceremony a month later, and on the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, while George brooded in his workshop, a smiling Angelina walked in to announce that she was pregnant.

***

Jonathan Frederick Weasley was born almost a year to the day after Angelina had moved in with George. Mother and son came home from St. Mungo’s to a tired but accomplished looking father.

“The nursery is done,” George said, stepping out of the workroom. “It took some doing, but Dobby and I…” He trailed off as he caught his first glimpse of his son. With the baby having been taken away for diagnostic spells as soon as he was born, and with Angelina’s insistence that the nursery be finished before Jonathan came home, George had not yet seen him. His expression slowly turned to stone as he took in the child’s wisps of red hair and brown eyes.

“Don’t you want to hold him?” Angelina asked, holding out her arms. George quickly backed away.

“Er, not…not right now,” he stammered. “I’m all dirty, you know, from the, uh, the nursery. I’ll just…go wash up.” He retreated hastily.

The next few weeks were filled with bottles, nappies, crying, and flaring tempers. Finally, one night when Angelina came back from the Quidditch shop to a tipsy husband and a screaming son, she snapped.

“He’s your son too, George! Why don’t you take care of him?”

George wavered drunkenly. “Fred will never see him. Why the hell should I?”

Angelina stared at him, shocked. “That’s rich, coming from you,” she said, eyes filling with tears. “You’re alive, but you’ve never met _his_ daughter!”

“And why should I?” George roared suddenly, taking a menacing step forward. Angelina backed away from him. “What good could come of it? Isn’t it enough that I have to see his hair and his eyes every time I look in the mirror? Why should I see some other person with only half his genes when it should be him here, and not her?” He paused for breath, his chest heaving from emotion.

Angelina let her tears fall freely. “I’m glad he’s not here,” she said. George reeled as if he’d been slapped. “I’m glad he’s not here to see what a monster you’ve become. Fred was always kind to everyone around him, even when he played his tricks. And so were you!” She sniffled. “What happened to you, George? Why can’t you be like you and Fred used to be?”

George stared at her. “Me and Fred. Not just me. Is that why you married me?” he asked, his voice low. “Because you thought I could be George and Fred at the same time?”

She shook her head. “I thought,” she whispered, “I just thought that, maybe, if you did the things you used to do, it would be like having him back…” She trailed off.

George stepped closer to her until her back hit the wall. Trapped, she had no where to go when he gripped her hair. “I _am_ Fred,” he growled, “and Fred’s dead.” He released her abruptly and marched out to the street, slamming the shop door behind him.

***

“Missus Angelina barely spoke to Master George again,” Dobby said. “The poor missus died two years ago, not long after mister Jonathan died from a Fanged Geranium bite.” Scorpius remembered that horrible incident; the boy had been in his own year, although he hadn’t known that it was George Weasley’s son. He hadn’t cared much at all about the expansive Weasley family tree, he realized. Dobby’s head and ears drooped so low that Scorpius nearly reached a hand out to pat him on the shoulder.

Scorpius looked out the window instead. “It’s stopped raining,” he observed.

Dobby looked up. “Then young sir will be wanting to go home, won’t he? Dobby must be getting young sir’s robes.” He fetched the garments and tucked in bags of biscuits before Scorpius could protest.

Just before he stepped out the door, Scorpius turned to Dobby. He was sure he already knew the answer, but he had to ask anyway. “Dobby, do you want to stay here?” He ignored the image of his grandfather’s reaction should the old man ever find out that his grandson cared about the well-being of a house-elf.

“Oh yes, sir. Dobby is very happy to take care of Master George and Miss Roxanne. Very happy, indeed.” Dobby closed the door quietly.

Scorpius went home, Granger’s book signing forgotten, and although he didn’t forget his promise about his house-elves, the memories of the desolate joke shop pushed themselves to the corners of his mind.

Some months later, however, when he fancied Florian Fortescue’s ice cream and a stroll outside of the manor, he wondered about the inhabitants in that shop. Taking a circuitous route around Diagon Alley, he paused when he saw activity on the doorstep of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

Many bodies, most with red hair, flowed through the open door carrying large boxes outside. Although the older ones looked somber, the younger ones weaved through the chaos in quiet play. Scorpius saw no sign of George Weasley, Roxanne, or Dobby.

When he stepped closer to try to find out what was going on, he caught the attention of a man who looked about his father’s age. The man glanced at Scorpius’ blond hair before saying politely, “If you’re looking to shop, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to go elsewhere.”

“No, actually,” Scorpius said quickly, “I was here a few months ago, and I got stuck in the rain, and I met the owner and his niece…” Scorpius realized he was rambling, and the pained expression on the man’s face did not encourage him. Summing up, Scorpius continued, “Anyway, I just wanted to see how they were doing.”

The man seemed at a loss for words. “Well, er, that is, uh…” Tears filled his eyes and he hurried away without saying anything more.

Bewildered and with a sinking feeling in his gut, Scorpius managed to enter the store through a gap in the line of people flowing in and out. The interior of the shop was starkly different from when he had last seen it. Sunlight streamed in through the window, and most of the shelf units were gone, revealing a large, empty space with more foot tracks on the floor than dust. Scorpius immediately saw Roxanne near the far wall, packing away the last shelf of products.

He began to make his way towards her but stopped when she called to someone. A red-haired boy Scorpius remembered from school as Hugo Weasley came up to her side and reached to the top shelf for something. Roxanne smiled her thanks, her eyes shining at her cousin. She looked, Scorpius was pleased to see, entirely unlike the acerbic girl he had first met on that rainy day months ago.

Looking at the boxes strewn about the floor, movement in a nearby bin caught his eye. Realizing it was the day’s Daily Prophet, he picked it up and shook out the wrinkles. There, on the front page, was a double picture of a teen. With a start, Scorpius realized that it was not a double picture, but actually identical twins. The headline proclaimed, “George Weasley Joins His Twin in Eternal Rest.”

Scorpius stared at the photo, only able to tell each boy apart from the letters on their sweaters. Gone was the stern façade of George Weasley’s most recent appearance. Instead, he laughed silently, gripping his twin across his shoulders to keep from falling over. Fred also smiled broadly, hoisting George up before saying something and starting the whole scene over again.

Scorpius felt a presence at his back. Folding the paper guiltily, he turned to see an aged man regarding him curiously. Although his hair had turned to gray, Scorpius could see a resemblance between the man and the teens in the photo.

“I’m sorry,” Scorpius stammered, trying to stuff the paper back into the bin. The man merely shook his head and gently plucked the paper from Scorpius’ hands. He looked at the picture, and his eyes became glassy, but his voice was steady when he spoke.

“I never thought I’d say this,” the man began, “but I can’t help but feel relieved that he’s gone. They never should have been separated in the first place.” He gazed sadly at the photo, and Scorpius could only nod in agreement.

The old man sighed and shook his head, setting the newspaper down. “You know, I know my sons, and the man who died today wasn’t one of them.” He smiled grimly. “If life was fair at all, my twins are up at Hogwarts planning an eternity of mischief,” he said, waiting for Scorpius’ response hopefully.

Scorpius forced himself to smile back. “I’m sure they are, sir.” The man just clapped a hand on Scorpius’ shoulder before mixing himself back into the fray of Weasleys. Taking one last glance at Roxanne, who was busy laughing with Hugo, Scorpius stepped back onto the street and continued to Florian Fortescue’s.


End file.
